


Leaps of Faith

by Santillatron



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, All the Angels fell, Angst, Aziraphale caring for Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), Bit of Fluff, Crowley isn't a Demon really, Demons don't have wings (Good Omens), Eternal Affairs on the case, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mentioned Hastur (Good Omens), Self-Loathing, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), There will also be death, oh all right DEATH (Terry Pratchett), there will be hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron
Summary: Eternal Affairs follows up on Aziraphale's complaint about 'bad Angels', and happen to meet Crowley. Their inability to find any record of him sends him spiralling into an identity crisis that Aziraphale has to pick up the pieces of, whilst also dealing with his own horrifying visions of falling. Can anybody work out where he belongs?





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This glosses over a lot of details as I wanted to keep it short. The fact that Crowley is so different from the other Demons got me thinking and well here we are. Hope you like it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds out there is no record of him in Hell, and Aziraphale has a horrifying vision, that may be closer to the truth than they realise.

Crowley had come to Aziraphale’s bookshop mostly because he was bored. Unfortunately Aziraphale had opened the bookshop today and there was an infuriatingly steady trickle of customers. He filled his time waiting for the Angel to close up by hurrying them along. They would pick up a book that looked fascinating, only to discover it was an in depth (and out of date) study on cheese mould. Or the book would feel inexplicably damp and smell. He was pleased with the weird high pitched noise that got rid of two in one go. He’d finally managed to get rid of the last one with a splinter from the bookshelf. Not an easy task. 

He glanced at Aziraphale but the Angel was too busy with his filing to notice what Crowley was up to. 

Another lady came in as splinter boy left. Damn. She looked determined, as if she was here to find something specific. Why did people come to bookshops looking for knowledge? Haven’t they heard of the internet? Crowley was just mulling over what form of deterrent to use (spider’s nest? Nasty smell? Or maybe he could go and stand just a little bit too close to her…) when she saw Aziraphale and headed straight for him. 

“Angel Aziraphale? Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate?” Crowley froze and hoped she hadn’t seen him. 

Aziraphale was so shocked to hear his full title that it didn’t occur to him to deny it.  
“Yes...” he began. In the background the bookshop door locked itself and the sign now read ‘Closed’. 

“I’m Sylvia” said the lady dressed in grey. “Eternal Affairs. I hear you have made a complaint about some” she checked her notes “‘bad Angels’?” 

Crowley and Aziraphale were dumbstruck. The lady in front of them was dressed in a drab grey suit. Too dark and plain for Heaven’s usual attire, but too clean and well-fitting for Hell. Eternal Affairs was a special place reserved for the souls of the detail-orientated. They snapped up the accountants, the auditors, the inspectors, the librarians. They only took the best. When Wensleydale eventually arrived he would feel right at home. 

“Bad Angels?” Aziraphale asked, perplexed, looking at Crowley. He didn’t recall making any formal complaints. 

Oh. Wait. Yes he did. Realisation dawned on his face when he remembered that whilst trying to talk to God, he had mentioned bad Angels to Metatron. He couldn’t believe they’d actually followed that up...

“But I made that complaint quite some time ago Sylvia, a lot has happened since then...” 

“We have a bit of a backlog yes, but we are thorough.” She said primly. 

“Is that... all you’re here to investigate?” Queried Crowley as innocently as he could. 

“That’s all that’s been assigned to me, yes. And you are?” She inquired, turning to look at the lounging Demon. 

“Crowley. Demon. Serpent of Eden and definitely Not Nice. Did the M25 thing.” He flashed her a sly smile. No point in lying to Eternal Affairs. They always found you out. 

She checked her tablet. 

“Hmmm. No Demon found under ‘Crowley’. Can I just check the spelling?”

“Try ‘Crawly’ then, with an ‘a’ and no ‘e’.” He said with slightly less enthusiasm. He wouldn’t put it past Hell not change his name on the records. 

“Nnnno, still nothing. How... irregular.” She said as she looked him over, thoughtfully. “Definitely a Demon?”

“Well he’s not an aardvark.” Muttered Aziraphale, just loud enough to be heard. 

Crowley stomped off. It would be just like Hell to strike him from the record. He sat in a dark corner, brooding. Only the reflection of his sunglasses, and the toes of his shoes in the light gave away his position. The corner hadn’t been that dark before he sat in it, but when a Demon strops, even reality can’t fail to notice. 

“Well Sylvia, I do rather think that with everything that’s happened since, this isn’t really worth pursuing, so if it’s ok I think we can drop the complaint.” Said Aziraphale, in his most reasonable voice. 

“Well if you’re sure” she began, but then Aziraphale hit her with the full force of his most charming smile and she just nodded her understanding.  
“I will have to notify my superiors of your… friend’s lack of records. It’s highly unusual.” 

“The bastards probably deleted me!” Came the angry reply from the shadows. “6000 years of work! Then you sabotage ONE apocalypse and they just erase you! Poof!” There may well have been arm waving, but it was lost in the gloom. 

“Not possible.” The investigator said matter-of-factly. “Our records are separate to Heaven and Hell’s own. They were formed during the Great Fall and cannot be tampered with. They are infallible.”

“Well they’re looking pretty fallible right now! Maybe you should try turning them off and on again.” Came the sarcastic response. Crowley hadn’t yet acknowledged the rising feeling of alarm. He was too angry at the thought of being struck off to think about what it might actually mean.

“I’m going to need to get some expert opinions on this.” She continued smoothly. “This is certainly going to be an interesting case.” 

She touched her tablet, and with a practiced smile, vanished. Sylvia had been a legal assistant in her mortal life and she was very good at getting to the truth, which is why Eternal Affairs had snapped up her soul. She was methodical, but also good at handling sensitive information, and ruthless about filing. She was also on very good terms with the archive keeper.

Back in the bookshop Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s dark corner. The darkness managed to get even deeper. 

“I could use The Light you know...” he said, testing the depth of Crowley’s mood. 

“Hmph.” Was the emphatic reply. Best not to then. Aziraphale decided to leave Crowley to grump in the corner and went to make some tea. Crowley always gave up stropping sooner if Aziraphale ignored him. 

It was some days later, when the pair were sampling a new bakery, that Sylvia showed up again. 

“Sylvia, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said cautiously as she approached. “I’d rather hoped that nothing further was needed from me to drop the complaint, so to what do I owe the pleasure of your company again?” 

Crowley merely scowled. 

“You don’t.” She said simply. “I’m here for Master Crowley.” 

She turned to the exasperated Demon.

“We were rather hoping you would help us with our investigation, so we can trace the root of the error. We need to work out why you don’t show up on our records for Hell.”

Crowley didn’t want to help, and didn’t really care, but Aziraphale clearly did, and the look he was getting was one that promised sulking if he didn’t. He relented. 

“Oh all right, what do you need from me?” He asked, just barely masking the irritation in his voice. 

“Wonderful! Just a few personal details. It might be better if we can do this somewhere less public?” She asked, looking around at all the messy, chaotic humans. 

“Why, of course!” He pulled out the key for the Bentley. He’d had a terrific idea. 

Well, it should have been terrific, but the Eternal Affairs investigator was decidedly lacking in terror. Crowley was hurtling through central London traffic at stupendous speeds, but she sat calmly in the back seat. The only one being terrified was Aziraphale in the front. Crowley scowled again in frustration and slowed down. They were at his flat anyway. 

Once upstairs Aziraphale made himself as comfortable as he could on the sofa, whilst Sylvia took some measurements from Crowley. She noted his eyes, and the mark on his cheekbone on her tablet. She measured his height, and then asked to see him transform. This time she measured his length, and noted down his teeth and red belly. As she stepped back he became mostly human again. 

“Now I need to ask you about your Fall.” She said carefully. She sat down next to Aziraphale and produced a small voice recorder. “I’m interested in what you remember from before, and the changes you found afterwards. If you don’t mind, you can tell me in your own time.” She looked at him expectantly. 

Aziraphale decided this was probably a good time to disappear off to make some refreshments, so bustled off towards the kitchen. He made sure the door wasn’t fully closed though. 

Sylvia switched on the recorder. 

“Subject known as ‘Crowley’, interview 1.” She said. “Mr Crowley, if you’d be so kind as to talk us through the events before, during and after your Fall?”

So for the first time, Crowley talked. He talked about how he couldn’t really remember who he was before, just a few snippets of things like making stars. He talked about how he hadn’t meant to fall, he’d just been hanging around with the wrong Angels at the time. He’d got caught up in the camaraderie, and joined in because it was nice to finally feel like he fitted in somewhere. That he could actually make a difference. He’d realised too late what they were actually planning. He only had a hazy recollection of the fall into the sulphurous abyss itself, but he recalled desperately trying to fly back up...

“Fly? You kept your wings?” Sylvia interrupted. “How long did they last?” 

Crowley simply unfolded them by way of an explanation and Sylvia’s jaw dropped. As a general rule, Demon’s didn’t really have wings. 

...and then how Hastur (who had always hated Crowley) somehow got hold of him and down they both went. 

“For the purposes of the tape, the subject known as ‘Crowley’ has entire wings. Pigmented black, but still whole.” Sylvia said, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. “Do you have any blemishes on your body?”

“Only the eyes and the snake here.” He said pointing to his face. 

“Subject has indicated a snake-shaped marking on their right cheekbone, beside the ear. And you say you don’t remember it very clearly?”

“No. The memory of it is patchy. Up until Hastur grabbed me, then I remember the boiling sulphur very clearly.”

“This is most irregular. End of recording.” She said as she turned the machine off. “I’m going to have to talk to my superior about this” she said as she packed it away. “The presence of your wings has given me an idea that I need to research.” 

Crowley was subdued from the effort of recounting such a painful memory, so simply nodded. 

Sylvia stood up. Another tap on the tablet and her and her official smile vanished again 

Crowley wandered towards the kitchen. 

“It’s alright Aziraphale, you can come out now!” He teased. 

He rounded the door and found the Angel sat on the floor, backed up towards the cabinets, eyes wide with terror. His wings were spread out and pressed against the cupboard doors as if he intended to fly at that moment. 

“It’s alright Angel, I won’t drive so fast next time.” Crowley chuckled. 

But Aziraphale didn’t move. He just turned his head to Crowley and stammered “I saw it Crowley. I could hear you describing the Abyss and I saw it. Felt the fear of falling. Of judgement. But I didn’t see it as you described it, I saw it as if I myself were plummeting into the Abyss.”

“But that’s impossible and you know it. You’re an Angel, by definition you didn’t fall.”

“But it felt like a memory Crowley. One that I’d long forgotten, or suppressed, suddenly being dragged back to the surface.” 

“Impossible.” Said Crowley matter-of-factly. “Now it’s nearly dinner time. Where do you fancy going?” 

The suggestion of food calmed Aziraphale immensely, and over the course (well, four courses) of dinner at The Ritz, the Angel had almost managed to write the whole episode off as just his imagination. 

When the Angels rebelled, God had created the Abyss. It was a nightmare place, drawn straight from the darkest corners of the Angels’ souls. But She didn’t create it as a punishment for the rebels, She created it as a rite of passage. 

All the Angels had to face the Abyss. And all the Angels had to plummet into it, hoping that they would be deemed worthy and returned, and not sucked into its sulphurous depths. Those that wouldn’t jump were thrown. Those that fell would have their Angelic qualities stripped from them piece by piece. The more unworthy the Angel was deemed, the more was stripped away. Bodies were scarred and deformed. Wings were ravaged, and those that were lucky would be left with scrawny flesh stretched over bones. Most would have none at all remaining. Once the Abyss had stripped them of all God’s gifts, their mutilated bodies would be banished to Hell for the rest of eternity. Only the purest and most worthy would be returned.

Those that did return would not remember their ordeal. Only those that fell would be cursed with the memory of the horror they endured, and what they had lost. Who they had lost.


	2. Holy Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wants revenge on whoever is upsetting his Angel, but instead finds out that he really is immune to holy water. When he finds out why, the truth is too much to bear.

Crowley and Aziraphale hadn’t spoken about the Angel’s vision since that night. They had both written it off as an overactive imagination, combined with the adrenaline from Crowley’s driving. But this was the first time since that night that Aziraphale had been in Crowley’s flat, and as he walked into the kitchen to get the wine glasses, it all came flooding back. Crowley scrambled into the kitchen as he heard the yelp, and found Aziraphale curled up on the floor again. He crouched down in front of him and lifted the Angel’s face gently.

“Angel look at me” He said slightly sternly. “You are in my kitchen. You are safe. Nothing bad will happen here. Tell me what you saw.”

“Crowley it was horrifying. I just stepped off the edge and fell. I had no choice. I was terrified. But I wasn’t terrified of having to step off the edge, I was terrified of not coming back. But it was the Abyss Crowley, nobody comes back. What the Devil is going on?!”

“I don’t know Angel. I don’t know.” His voice may have been calming, but his expression was anything but. Someone was going to regret messing with his Angel. What the Devil indeed...

A few days later, with Aziraphale busy with his bookshop, Crowley paid a visit to an old friend. Well, he’d been a ‘friend’ for millennia, which naturally made him an enemy. He took the precaution of bringing a spray bottle of holy water with him. He’d got Aziraphale to bless it the day before, sort of. He’d tricked Aziraphale into holding it and then sneezed, knowing the Angel wouldn’t have thought twice about the polite response. It would have to do. Need’s must and all that. Aziraphale would understand. 

Crowley watched as Hastur tempted a politician. He didn’t know why Hastur bothered, as their fate was sealed anyway. He’d had to wait until the wretched Duke was on Earth since he couldn’t risk going downstairs these days.

He spotted his chance and silently stalked up behind the Demon. Crowley pressed the bottle nozzle into the back of the filthy overcoat Hastur favoured, and hissed softly in his ear.

“Hasssstur. Remember me? I’ve brought my spray bottle, and this time it’s filled with a litre of the good stuff, courtesy of a certain Angel. How lucky are you feeling today Hasssssstur?”

Hastur snarled but didn’t turn around.  
“Crowley” he growled “I ought to obliterate you where you stand. You cost me a body.”

“Yeah well it looks like I’m the only one in the position to be obliterating, so how about you just settle for answering my questions?” Crowley said. “What is Hell doing to Aziraphale?”

“Damned if I know.” Hastur chuckled. “We had strict orders to go nowhere near you two. More trouble than it’s worth.” Hastur sniffed.

“What about Heaven? I know you’re in touch with them somehow.”

“Same deal. Heaven don’t want anything to do with you two Crowley. Something about ‘plausible deniability’.” Hastur couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice.

“Ok then, last one before I leave you to your time wasting. When we fell, why did you grab me?”

Hastur’s face turned to thunder.

“Because you weren’t falling you bastard. You hung around with the rest of us, but when the time came you weren’t falling with us. You’ve always been a traitor Crowley, and you’ll die one!”

"Weren't falling...?"

Hastur span around and grabbed the bottle and pointed it at Crowley before he could stop him.

“I figured out your little sleight of hand in Head Office. Or sleight of bodies more like. Let’s see how the real you reacts to Holy Water!”

Laughing, he sprayed a very surprised Crowley in the face. Crowley cried out and swiped at his face to clear it, but then stopped and looked at his hands as he realised the pain he’d expected wasn’t materialising.

Shit. The blessing hadn’t worked. If anything it actually felt refreshing.

Hastur laughed even more, and as he did so a droplet fell from the leaky nozzle onto his finger. He screamed and dropped the bottle. Crowley’s snake reflexes meant he caught it before it hit the ground.

“It’s burning! What did you do?!” He cried. “What are you?!” Hastur hastily scrambled away, leaving a stunned Crowley looking at the leaky spray bottle, with its little trickle of water running down onto his unscathed hand.

Crowley slipped away, and headed back to the bookshop. Aziraphale would know what to do. Or which book to look in.

Fortunately the bookshop was closed today. ‘Family illness’ was the excuse on the door. Crowley went in anyway as usual, and straight over the Aziraphale, who was sitting at his desk. The Angel turned as he heard Crowley come in.

“Crowley! There you are, listen, I’ve been thinking about the ... unpleasantness in your kitchen. Do you have a spirit haunting you perhaps?”

“What? No. I’d know if anyone was hanging around. Listen Angel, can you tell if this is holy water in here?” Crowley asked, carefully handing him the spray bottle.

“Why would...? Good heavens yes it is. How did you get more holy water? Oooooh... oh I’m ever so sorry...” Aziraphale said as he remembered the last time he'd seen the bottle. “Are you badly hurt? I can heal it if so.”

“No Angel, I’m not hurt. Not hurt at all. And I had a full spray to the face.”

“Oh thank goodness! It could have been so much worse. I shall have to be more mindful of what I’m holding in future. Wait, did you just say a full spray, to the face? How?”

“Yes Aziraphale. Watch” and the Demon sprayed himself again. He’d been experimenting on the way over on tiny patches and it definitely didn’t harm him. It just felt, well it felt like a cool shower after a hot day. It felt like he was washing his blackened soul.

“Oh.” Said Aziraphale flatly. Lost for words for once.

“Indeed.” Came Crowley’s equally dimensionally deprived reply.

Sylvia was becoming more perplexed by the hour. What she was finding didn’t add up. She’d been a mortal, so hadn’t been there at the time of the fall. She needed to speak to Crowley again. She located him in Soho, in the bookshop again.

Once again the Eternal Affairs agent stepped over the threshold of A. Z. Fell’s, just in time to see the Demon spray himself in the face. She merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. She’d seen a lot of things in this job, that in her mortal life would have had her questioning her sanity.

“Indeed” she heard Crowley say.

She coughed the polite cough that all beings use to attract attention and said “Perhaps if you’ve finished your ablutions, I have some more questions.” She began. Crowley turned to face her. His expression was less than welcoming.

“I wondered if perhaps I could see your wings again?” She carried on regardless.

“You!” Crowley hissed, advancing towards the investigator. “What did you do to Aziraphale?!”

He had unconsciously raised the spray bottle.

“I do not need a wash thank you, and I do not have the power to do anything to Angels or Demons. I merely investigate and pass my findings up. The almighty is the only one with the power to enact consequences.”

“How do you feel about Holy Water Sylvia?” Crowley snarled. “Angel here has been having visions of falling since you showed up, and it seems I’m impervious to Holy Water for real now. So, I ask you again. What did you do?”

  
Sylvia looked at the figure before her with interest. “Holy water has no effect on me Crowley, other than making me irritatingly damp. I have a theory as to what you are which would explain the Holy Water, but I’d like to see your wings again please.”

Crowley relented. Without taking his eyes off of Sylvia, he put the spray bottle down and silently opened his wings. They were identical to Angel wings, but completely black, like the depths of the darkest chasm.

Except… they weren’t.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped “your wings!” And there, in the middle of each wing, like the first star to appear in the night sky, was the tip of one, new, white feather just growing in.

Sylvia took a deep breath.

“Crowley, I don’t think you are actually a Demon” She said carefully “and Aziraphale isn’t having visions, they are memories that he was never meant to keep. I’m not quite sure of all the details yet, but from what I’ve found in our records, it wasn’t just the Demons that fell. It was everyone. The Demons are just the ones that weren’t returned from the Abyss. Hearing your recounting of your fall may have unlocked his suppressed memories of his own fall.”

She heard the Angel gasp and drop heavily into a chair.

“You mean... they ALL went into the Abyss?” Crowley was horrified, but couldn’t help musing for a moment on Gabriel falling, and wondered how he made it out. He briefly tried to remember if he'd ever seen Gabriel's wings, but put that thought aside for another time. 

“Yes, it seems like you all did. And it was the Abyss that stripped your Angelic qualities and gave you all your Demon forms. Crowley, you said Hastur grabbed hold of you during your fall? I think perhaps he dragged you down when you should have been returned. That’s why the Holy water doesn’t harm you, and why your memory is hazy - the Angels had the memory of the fall suppressed. None of them remember going into the Abyss, and as you were supposed to be returned but didn't, yours is only partly affected. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think you were meant to be an Angel. A dirty one, but still an Angel. ”

“But how can that be?” Aziraphale asked. “He has Demonic powers.”

“Well the power of suggestion counts for a lot, as you both should know. If he thinks he is a Demon, he behaves like one. He was deprived of divine influence for so long that it took its toll, but he’s been on Earth for long enough that it seems like the Hellish influence is fading. Truthfully I’m not exactly sure what you are now.” She trailed off into silence. 

Suddenly Aziraphale broke the tension by bursting into laughter.

“I know! I know what you are!” He chuckled. “You’re ineffable!”

Crowley slammed his wings back in with a scowl, shot the Angel a look that would have anybody else quivering like his plants, and retreated to the suddenly and dramatically dark corner again.

Sylvia glanced at Aziraphale.

“I’ll keep digging and work out what this means. I’ll check the heavenly register. It may tell us what his Angelic identity was.” She said as she left.

The two companions stayed sat in their chairs, Aziraphale by his desk, Crowley in the midnight black corner.

“How could She have done this Crowley?” Aziraphale asked eventually. “She sent us all to our doom. Hell hath indeed no fury like a woman scorned. Even if that 'woman' is God.”

“At least you got out.” Came a bitter voice from the darkness. “She didn’t even try and save me by the sounds of it. Supposedly deemed worthy, but left to fall anyway.”

“Well I always said you had a spark of good in you.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes Crowley?”

“Thank you for not abandoning me.”

“Never Crowley. ‘Our side’ remember?” The gloom in the Demon’s corner lifted a little. “And Crowley?”

“Yes Angel?”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“Always Angel. Always. As long as you don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold you know.” He smirked.

They sat like that in their respective corners, staring out into the world in the same direction for quite some time before Crowley called it a night and got up to leave. Aziraphale didn't particularly want Crowley to leave, but he couldn't think of a plausible reason to ask him to say. Well, not one he could say out loud anyway, so the companions parted ways once more, and Crowley drove himself home. 

There was no escaping the fact that Crowley had always felt like an outcast, so being cast out didn’t come as that much of a surprise. Like the serpent of infinity eating its own tail, the feeling of being different had been eating away at him for all eternity. He’d never really fitted in with the Angels, and Lucifer and the gang had made him feel like he belonged to something for once. That he mattered. Well that didn’t matter now. He hadn’t really ever found his place in Hell either. His schemes were far beyond what the luddites down there could understand and he was so frustrated, which is probably why they had sent him to Earth. The only Demon with an imagination, and now he knew why.

He wondered if his half-breed status made him human, only to remember that humans aren't immortal. He wondered what would become of him, would his Demonic powers diminish now he knew he wasn't actually a Demon? He wondered why God had let him fall if the Abyss had deemed him worthy. Why didn’t She think he was worthy? He wondered what would happen when Heaven found out. He wondered what Aziraphale was thinking, and what he would think of him. He wondered if Aziraphale thought he could be worthy. He wondered if it would change things between them. He wondered if Angels or Demons could drink themselves to oblivion. He wondered if he could ever be worthy enough to save.

Crowley wondered many things that night as he sat alone in his flat, desperately gulping down whatever alcohol he could find.

But he never once wondered if it was part of Her plan...

As the night wore on, it became apparent that Crowley was drunk. No, he was more than just drunk, he had seen his usual limit go sailing past hours ago and he was holding the body together by sheer stubbornness alone. At this point he couldn't recall what had started this binge, but it must have been important for him to drink this much, so he kept going in case he remembered. It had something to do with his wings, he thought. He was precariously stood in the middle of the room so he opened them wide to see what the fuss was all about. There seemed to be something white stuck in them, because he knew his wings were black, weren't they? But his usual barely there coordination had given up about 5 bottles ago so his efforts to retrieve said pearly interlopers merely resulted in him careering around knocking everything over. He finally fell face down onto the floor, and held on. As everything slowly settled to a leisurely spin he realised there was a figure sat on his throne. It was wearing long dark robes, and inspecting one of Crowley's plants curiously.

"Oi!" He managed from the floor "whadthefuckdyoothink yadoinmister?!" he slurred.

"HMM? OH DON'T MIND ME CROWLEY, YOU CARRY ON" Came an eldritch voice that echoed back from the dawn of time. 

Crowley tried to sit up.

"You're Death! But the worldssss not endinginging an'mor! Whatthefuck you doin here?" He managed to garble. Crowley gasped.

"Am I DEAD?! Didn't think you came for... uh... occult types. Fancy that! What happens next then? Ooooooh Aziraphale is going to be pished. I mean pissed... I'm pished... I miss him." He said sadly. 

"NO CROWLEY YOU ARE NOT DEAD. YET." Death's voice managed to arrive in your head without seeming to use the ears, which was surprisingly disconcerting for someone who was, until very recently, a Demon. 

"YOUR BODY IS HAVING A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE, AND AS SUCH, I MUST HAVE A NEAR CROWLEY EXPERIENCE." Death sighed. "IT'S ALL RATHER DAFT, BUT THERE YOU GO. I DON'T NORMALLY TURN UP FOR DISCORPORATIONS, BUT BETWEEN THE HUMAN BODY, THE SNAKE BODY AND... WHATEVER YOU ARE, IT'S ALL GETTING CONFUSED SO HERE I AM. AND IT'S NOT EVEN THE STRANGEST JOB I'VE HAD RECENTLY." Death's voice managed to sound like a coffin lid closing, but in a disgruntled fashion.

Crowley was a bit put out that someone else had managed to be more interesting than his twisted, immortal soul.

"Oh yeh? Whass bettr'n a... a.. a.. what am I?" he managed. 

"A BENTLEY." Death said flatly. 

Crowley's golden eyes grew wide.

"I'm a whaaa?!" He cried, all feeling of inferiority forgotten.

"THE SOUL. IT WAS A BENTLEY. YOURS, IN FACT. IT ARRIVED JUST AFTER THE WORLD DIDN'T END. WE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT. IT WAS RATHER A RELIEF WHEN ADAM PULLED IT BACK TO EARTH. AS FOR YOU," he added "YOU ARE STUPENDOUSLY DRUNK, PART SNAKE AND ON A COLD FLOOR." Death said with interest, as the figure before him slumped back to the ground. 

This time Crowley didn't get up, so Death waited. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pratchett fans amongst you might recognise the last bit :) I can't remember which story has Death having a near Rincewind experience, but it's always made me chuckle.


	3. Picking up the pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets to Crowley just in time, and in a reversal of roles it's his turn to save the day (with a little help from the Bentley).

Death checked something inside his robe and glanced back at the prone figure on the floor with curiosity. 

"SQUEAK?" Came a small sound from the desk next to him. 

"OH YES HE'S NOT GOING TO BE WAKING UP ANY TIME SOON. YOU CAN COME OUT"

The Death of Rats wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the snake on the floor. Even if it did look human at the moment. 

"SQUEAK." It said firmly. 

"OH ALL RIGHT." Death conceded. He felt a presence approaching. "SOMEONE'S COMING ANYWAY."

Death studied the curiously quivering plants once more, scooped up his rodent companion and with a sound like a funeral bell, they were gone. 

There was no getting around it, Aziraphale was worried about Crowley. He’d given him some space to come to terms with everything they’d discovered, but he was worried that that might have been the wrong thing to do. He was agonising over whether he should go and find him, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Bentley pull up outside, and beep the horn. Finally! He was so relieved he rushed straight outside to greet Crowley. When he got there, the passenger door was open. Aziraphale quickly shut the bookshop with a wave, and jumped into the car, closing the suicide door behind him.

“Crowley! I’m so gla-“ He stopped. There was nobody in the car. Aziraphale was baffled. He turned to get out to see if Crowley was on the pavement, and the door locked itself.

He frowned at it. “I say, Did you just lock me in?” He found himself asking the car.

The engine started. Well there’s only so much occult a car can take before it starts to generate some of its own.

“Oh you clever thing!” Aziraphale said, patting the dashboard. He had never understood the concept of an engine purring, until now. “Now, where is Crowley? Is he alright?”

The radio came on. Freddie Mercury cried out “Save me! Save me!”

“Take me to him. And to blazes with the speed limit!” Was Aziraphale’s determined response.

As they careered across London, with ‘Flash Gordon’ blasting out the Bentley’s speakers, Aziraphale found himself wondering just how much input Crowley actually had when they were driving, and how much the car just enjoyed being fast. He wished the Bentley had seatbelts. Various pedestrians along the route found themselves suddenly stopping when they were about to cross the road, not quite sure why, but thankful for it when something too fast to properly see went hurtling past, blasting “He works miracles!” Other drivers likewise found their vehicles stalling when they wanted to pull out, or suddenly swerved around potholes that they would have sworn weren’t there a second ago. They arrived at Crowley’s flat in a response time to rival the London Air Ambulance service, and the Bentley opened the door for the Angel.

"Yes.. well.. well done. And thank you." Aziraphale felt foolish for saying it to a car, but it would be rude not to say anything. He got out and closed the door carefully, and slightly awkwardly, and turned to look at the building where his companion resided. 

Angels can feel love, so they can also feel its absence. Crowley’s flat reeked of self-loathing so strongly that Aziraphale could feel it from street level. This was worse than he feared. When he got into the flat he found Crowley sprawled face down on the cold floor as if he’d fallen. His wings were out, but the feathers were ruffled as if he’d been thrashing them around. Judging by the mess, he probably had been. He was shirtless, and the flat smelled of vomit. Crowley’s normally vibrant hair was lank and lifeless. Aziraphale could tell he was alive, but being partly snake and very cold, and having apparently tried to replace his blood with alcohol judging by the empty bottles strewn everywhere, he was as close to lifeless as it was possible to be. There was a smell of Death in the air. 

Aziraphale wasted no time in gathering his friend up in his arms. He laid him on the sofa while he too stripped to the waist. The Angel sat in the corner, put one leg up and dragged Crowley onto him so the freezing bare skin of the not-Demon’s back was resting against the warm softness of the Angel’s torso. He carefully tucked Crowley’s wings in a bit, noting a few more white feathers, and wrapped his own around them, cocooning them both. He placed one hand on Crowley’s chest, and the other on his head to support him, and concentrated. The wings held in most of the heat and light that emanated, but even so, the devil’s ivy wilted under its glare.

After a few minutes Crowley began to breathe again as the body woke up from its stupor. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's heartbeat get stronger and faster. Another few minutes and his fingers began to twitch, and his wings vanished from the Earthly plane. Then Crowley shifted slightly, burying his forehead in the Angel’s neck. His eyelids fluttered, and he groaned. Aziraphale reduced the heat and light levels.

“Just rest Crowley. You’re about to have one Hell of a hangover.” He said softly.

He had been brought back from the brink, and would have to deal with the consequences when he woke up, but for now he just slept. And judging by the twitching, jerking and incoherent mumbling, he was dreaming, and whatever he was seeing wasn’t pleasant. Aziraphale tried to soothe him by stroking his hair and giving soft reassurances, which he began to pepper with terms of affection as he calmed down from the shock of seeing Crowley so vulnerable. The soothing strokes seemed to be working, as the movements and sound were becoming less frantic.

“It’s alright my dearest, I’ve got you. I won’t let you go my darling” He murmured. It felt good to say it, even if the ears it was destined for couldn’t possibly hear anything in this world at the moment. “I love you” he whispered.

It just slipped out. He’d shocked himself with the admission, particularly as he hadn’t actually admitted it to himself yet.

Crowley mumbled something in his sleep, that could have been misconstrued as “love you too” if the Angel didn’t know better. But Aziraphale knew with a sad resignation that Crowley was dreaming, so couldn't possibly be talking to him. 

As the broken Angel finally surfaced he first became aware that the actual surface under him felt unfamiliar. He thought he was in his flat, but his flat had lots of hard surfaces, but this surface was soft, and wonderfully warm. It smelled familiar, but out of context in his home. As he pried open his eyes he slowly became aware of white feathers arching over him. Just as he was trying to work out how his wings had completely changed overnight, he was steamrollered by the blinding headache.

“Whu-aaaaaargh” he managed. His mouth felt as though he’d licked the walls in Hell. Again.

“Welcome back. How are you feeling?” Came an oddly familiar voice from behind him.

Crowley merely groaned. A hand appeared with a glass of crystal clear water in it, and brought the straw to his lips. He sipped it slowly, as his groggy brain tried to shout something at him about the hand. More specifically about the little finger, and the golden signet ring on it. He frowned at it. He couldn't work out why the surface he was laying on seemed to be breathing. 

His brain suddenly pieced all the details together, and he worked out where he was, who he was with, and what he had done. The gasp that accompanied this led him to choke on the water he’d sipped, and strong hands lifted him up to sitting, skin contact briefly breaking but swiftly returning as his saviour sat up behind him to support him while he cleared his airways.

“Az-phale” Crowley slurred once he’d evicted the errant liquid “m’sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He rested his pounding head in his hand, propping it up on his knee. Aziraphale’s arms were either side of him, bracing against the Angel’s own knees, to catch him if he fell.

“You’ve saved me plenty of times over the centuries you fool. Allow me to return the favour.”

Crowley knew he should tell Aziraphale he could let go of him now, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Hurts. All over” was all he could say.

“Well you will you daft old silly. You pushed your body far beyond what it could cope with, and once you stopped being able to influence it, it damn near died. Fortunately the snake in you put your body into hibernation, but even so you were lucky I found you when I did. Keep sipping, it will help.” The Angel said, tenderly.

“It’s going to take more than water for this headache I think.” He scoffed, but gently. Fast movements were a bit painful. “And you can drop your wings now.”

As Aziraphale let the holy light fade, and slowly lowered his wings and tucked them back into the ethereal, Crowley took in the mess that was his flat. The bottles lying everywhere, the toppled art. Even his Angel statues had fallen, he mused. As the smell hit him he could tell he was going to add to it. Thankfully Aziraphale has anticipated this and with a chime a large bowl appeared.

“You’re too weak to purge your body, so it’s having to do it the human way I’m afraid. Let it all out and keep sipping.” Aziraphale told him. He offered him the glass again, which somehow wasn’t getting any emptier, no matter how much Crowley sipped.

Slowly Crowley did start to feel better. The water was helping a lot. Perhaps more than Crowley thought it should. Once his body finished expelling everything it felt it needed to, he recovered enough to speak again.

“Aziraphale. That’s not ordinary water, is it.”

“Well this is no ordinary hangover.” Came the sheepish reply from behind him. “You should be warm enough now.” Aziraphale finally sat back, separating their bodies. The light faded. Crowley shuddered as the cold air rushed into the space where his Angel had been. His guardian Angel apparently. His heart dropped a little, but that had nothing to do with the air temperature.

“Now you rest, and I’ll sort out the mess.” Aziraphale said, shuffling back and swinging his leg around his friend to stand up. He put his shirt back on, rolled up the sleeves, took the bowl from Crowley’s unresisting hands, and headed off towards the kitchen.

Crowley scrunched up on the sofa, head in his hands, feeling decidedly sorry for himself while Aziraphale tidied up the empty bottles and strewn objects. He used a miracle for the vomit, but even an Angel’s touch couldn’t get rid of the smell.

Crowley half watched as the Angel busied himself around the flat. The Angel seemed so at ease, and yet Crowley felt broken in so many ways. He glanced at his plants and saw the wilted, scorched leaves. This he could deal with at least. He began to scowl but was abruptly cut off.

“Don’t even think about it. They’re only wilted because I had to set my halo to supernova to bring you back. They’ve done remarkably well, given the circumstances. Haven’t you lovelies?” The last sentence, and the glorious smile aimed at the plants, had the intended effect. That, and the holy water he had given them resulted in the glossiest leaves that had ever graced the flat. Crowley realised he was feeling jealous. He tried to scowl even harder but the unholy hangover wasn’t having any of it so he just groaned and curled up again instead.

“It's going to be a while before you're back on your feet. How much did you drink?” Aziraphale asked gently. Crowley had buried his face so the Angel didn’t know if he was still awake. After no response was forthcoming, he sat down next to his stumbling Angel and gazed at his coiled form on the sofa. He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing up to this point, he just did what needed to be done. But he had so loved the freedom of admitting what was going on in his heart, and now he missed it terribly. Missed holding his companion close. As if reading his mind Crowley shuffled around and leant up against Aziraphale, with his head on the Angel’s soft arm. They sat like that for a while, before Crowley spoke ever so softly.

“I kept dreaming I was falling. Over and over again.” He paused. "But there was a voice telling me it was all going to be ok. That I was safe. And then it didn't feel like falling any more."

“A voice? Any voice in particular? And do you recall anything specific?” Aziraphale asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“Well it sounded like...” Crowley swallowed. His mouth suddenly dry. “It sounded like you Angel. But I can’t recall anything in particular, no.” This was a lie, but he wasn’t ready to admit anything else just yet. He was too fragile, and couldn’t be sure if he had really heard it, or just dreamt it again. He heard Aziraphale exhale slowly. 

“I also dreamt of you falling.” He went on. “And I couldn’t do anything about it when you rose without me.” The ball of fallen Angel curled in on himself a bit tighter.

Aziraphale put a hand reassuringly on Crowley’s leg. He wanted to put his arm around him again, but didn't want to disturb Crowley in case he moved away completely.

“But I’m here now.” Was all he could think to say. Aziraphale was trying not to dwell on Crowley's reaction to him ascending without him.

Crowley was frustrated at himself again. So close, and yet he could never quite make that leap of faith. Story of his life really. He sniffed. His serpentine and Demonic senses were trying to tell him something about Death and... rats? A groggy memory told him it involved his car. But he was in no state to deal with that right now. 

“I’m going to try and sleep more of this off." Crowley mumbled. "Make yourself at home if you like Angel, or you can get back to your books. S’up to you.” And with one last swig of the holy water on the coffee table, he shifted away from Aziraphale and sprawled out face down on the rest of the sofa and closed him eyes. When he eventually stopped fidgeting Aziraphale knew he was finally asleep. He looked so peaceful. 

"Sweet dreams, my sweetheart." He said softly, but there was a sadness in his voice.


	4. He is Risen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Crowley back on his feet, they set off to see what else he can do, and find some answers (and maybe each other) along the way.

When Crowley woke up it was with a tinge of disappointment that he was on the sofa, but he quickly banished that and tested his hangover status. So far so good. He tried opening his eyes. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. He tried moving, and discovered he had a blanket tucked around him. Tartan. No prizes for guessing where that came from then, but its presence lifted his spirits nonetheless. He shifted to look around and saw the Angel sat in the same spot, but now with a stack of books piled up next to him, and his ridiculous reading spectacles on. Crowley had no idea why the Angel bothered with them. His eyes were perfect in every way. Aziraphale looked at him over them.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. How are you feeling this time? Better dreams?” He said with a gentle smile, delicately tucking a bookmark into his book before placing it on the pile. He removed his spectacles and slotted them neatly into his waistcoat's breast pocket. His hands fell back to clasping each other on his lap.

“Yeah, oddly... sweet." He looked at the Angel suspiciously, and Aziraphale had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. Crowley fought the urge to wrap his arms around him. "Aziraphale, why the bloody hell are my plants flowering?”

Back to normal then. Thought Aziraphale with a smile.

“I took care of them while you slept. Quite remarkable what a few kind words can achieve.” He answered pointedly. “I’ve also been thinking while you were asleep. Maybe we should try a few things out. See what you can do now we know just how close to being an Angel you are.”

“How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

“I’m not a performing monkey Angel.”

“No Crowley. We know a great many things that you are not, but we don’t yet know what you are.”

The Angel had a point conceded Crowley. Aziraphale had cleaned his clothes, but not wishing to disturb the sleeping Crowley, and in the absence of any wardrobe had settled for folding them neatly on the floor next to where he had slept. He pulled them on, frowning at the jacket's tartan collar lining until it blushed back to a deep red. There. Now he felt himself again.

“Yes, sorry about that.” Said Aziraphale, noticing Crowley's expression at the collar. “It wasn’t deliberate, but as soon as I touched it, it changed again. I couldn’t get it to go back to red.”

“I’ll have to be careful what I let you touch in future then” Came the cheeky reply. It merely earned him a slightly stern look, but the twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes reassured him that they were ok.

He stood up, put his sunglasses back on and looked at his guardian Angel.

“No time like the present then eh?” And meandered off towards the door. He stopped just short of it and looked back at the Angel, who was watching him over the back of the sofa with… amusement?

“Coming then hot stuff?” He teased.

“Really Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded. But he couldn’t keep the grin from sneaking out. He picked up his coat and followed the sauntering Angel. He knew his books would be alright here. He realised he was mostly leaving them in the flat as an excuse to come back to get them later.

As they arrived at street level, Crowley let Aziraphale lead the way.

"Don't fancy a drive then?" Crowley queried after a while.

"No I think the Bentley needs a rest. She's done a lot lately." Aziraphale said calmly. 

Crowley panicked slightly. "How did you get all those books to mine Angel, you didn't drive my car did you?!"

"No, I didn't drive the Bentley." Said Aziraphale smoothly. Well, it wasn't a lie. "You can't from the passenger seat."

Crowley frowned at the smirking Angel in incomprehension.

"Here we are." said the Angel, as they arrived at a church. It was only a small one, but consecrated ground didn’t have to be vast to have power.

Crowley's thoughts shifted from the enigmatic answer, to the building in front of him.

“You’re going to make me walk in there, aren’t you.” He said flatly.

“Not make you Crowley. I won’t make you do anything. But I thought it would be a good test. If you’re immune to holy water, then this ground shouldn’t affect you.” Aziraphale said, with a gentle encouragement.

It was a small modern building, but the designer had loved stained glass so every window was a kaleidoscope of colour.

“A modern church? Really Angel?” Crowley sneered.

“Yes, well, need’s must when the serpent decides.” Aziraphale responded primly. “It was the closest one, and I hear it's rather beautiful.”

They paused at the entrance.

“Just remember, you are an Angel. Consecrated ground won’t hurt you. In fact, it should feel-“

“Yeah all right” interrupted Crowley. “Let’s just get on with this. One small step et cetera.”

He carefully touched one foot onto the ground on the inside of the church's threshold. As he gradually added more weight to it he braced for the burning sensation, but it never came. In fact it felt curiously pleasant. Like stepping barefoot onto a tiled floor, only to discover there is under floor heating. The option of unbearably hot is there, but at the moment it’s just right. He cautiously added the other foot. Same again. He nervously strode inside, to be greeted by a wonderful array of colours streaming down through the windows.

“Oh! It’s like a rain-bow in here!” Aziraphale gushed as they walked to the centre of the church. And it was. A glorious cacophony of colour and light. The way Aziraphale had never really modernised his pronunciation made Crowley think of the first ever rainbow. They'd watched it appear, side by side, all those millennia ago. He idly wondered what this one was apologising for.

“Well we’re definitely not in Kansas any more, that’s for sure.” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look, but was preventing from asking when they had ever been to Kansas, and what that has to do with churches, by the arrival of the priest.

As Aziraphale made a new friend, Crowley wandered off to look at the windows. He stopped in front of one depicting a tall figure with flowing fiery hair holding the world in one hand, and a flaming sword in the other. It had huge white wings with golden lead between the panes, but a broken, dark Halo. The background was filled with stars. He stared at it for some time.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Said a voice from behind him.

Crowley turned to see a woman sat on a chair nearby. She too, was admiring the windows. She looked far too respectable to be talking to him, but that was church types. Always on the look out for a soul to save, although she lacked the nervous hunger they usually fizzed with. Her hair was cut to her chin, dark, and wavy, and it seemed to move on the slightest whisper of air for it was never still. She seemed very relaxed in this space, as if it belonged to her. She sat sideways on the chair with one arm resting on the back to look at Crowley. Her clothes looked simple and practical, but of the highest quality. Strangely, she wore no jewellery. He thought she looked familiar but couldn’t quite place her. She didn’t look the sort to have ever crossed paths with a Demon. She looked more like someone's mother.

“This one’s rather special.” She continued. “It’s not strictly a bible figure. Usually God is shown protecting the world, but the artist chose to have this figure. It’s meant to represent a fallen Angel that has risen again.”

"Fallen Angels don't rise." He said flatly. 

"Depends how far they fell." She responded in turn. 

Crowley stared at the window. It was on the Eastern wall, a great, abstract, featureless face gazing down into the church, right at where Aziraphale stood in the centre, in the middle of what was becoming a rather heated conversation with the priest.

“Should be blonde then.” He mumbled absent-mindedly, looking at his Angel.

“Why?” She asked.

“He’s the one that She loves. He guarded the Eastern gate, and it’s his sword.”

“Why do you think God doesn’t love you my child?” She asked, with genuine concern in her voice.

“She let me fall. She may have tested him, but she let me fall even though I passed. I was never good enough. She abandoned me. You don't do that to someone you love.” Crowley said, with a flash of painful memories of bandstands and Alpha Centuri. He didn’t know why he was telling this woman his story, but he’d shared it enough recently so why the hell not? She seemed nice. She’d probably assume it was a metaphor.

“God doesn't abandon anyone. There is always a plan.” She said gently. “You’re more than good enough my child. You were the only one who could be trusted to walk through Hell and come out the other side. You were created to fall so you could rise above them all Crowley.”

Time stopped.

She knew his name he realised with alarm. Crowley was still looking at Aziraphale but he had frozen too. Was this Hell coming back? Not really their style. Nobody had the power to stop time for Angels, apart from...

“Yes dearest.” The woman said as Crowley turned his head to face her, his golden eyes wide and fully dilated in panic. She stood up and walked over to where Crowley was rooted to the spot in fear.

“But you... you tested him! He who is so pure and good!" Crowley blurted out. "You just left me to fall..." He had talked to God many times when he was alone, in the knowledge that She wouldn’t respond to a Demon even if somehow She could hear him. He had imagined all the things he would ask Her. Now he was actually face to face with Her, he found that once again it was a leap too far.

“Crowley I made you different. I made you mostly Angel, but you also had to go through Hell so you could be more powerful than either side. I needed you to take that journey without me, so you could become what you are now. And when the squabbling between Heaven and Hell spilled out onto Earth, you were there to save it, just as I planned. I have always loved you my special one, and I didn't abandon you, I sent you Aziraphale. He was created for you - he has a connection straight to me, although he’s not aware of it. He knows deep down what my will is, more so than the other Angels which is why he has struggled to obey them at times. He’s your own personal Metatron if you will, which means when he forgave you outside his bookshop, it was with Divine authority. He’s the only one capable of loving you as I do. Well, mostly as I do. He’s added in a few layers of his own over the millennia.”

“He...?” Began Crowley, turning to look at his beloved Angel.

"Yes. Always. But he's an Angel who can't even say 'disobey' so he's struggling with it." She said simply with a shrug. "We all have our own cross to bear."

"Why did you make them all fall, why did you have to make him fall?!" Crowley wanted answers, and this time, he got them. 

"I had to have you all fall because I had to make sure that there would be no quarelling afterwards. Nobody claiming I wasn't fair on them. No question as to which side of the divide they were on. I created the Abyss, I knew who would fall. He was never in any danger - that's why he's only just enough of a bastard. The two of you sit either side of a very fine line because that's where you needed to be. And now, it's time for you to cross it."

It hit Crowley like a tidal wave. It crashed down into his soul and filled him from within, rippling all the way to every extremity and beyond, sending him staggering backwards, clutching at his chest, eyes streaming under the sheer, overwhelming weight of it all at once. Demons cannot feel love, but Angels can and his transformation was complete. Not fully Angel or Demon, but with the power of both and the neither's weaknesses. A chimera.

A Guardian Angel.

He opened his wings, no longer black as night, but not white either. They seemed to change as he moved them, rippling in waves of light and dark in a monochromatic iridescence. There were red feathers scattered at the base of each wing, and the back of the feathers were golden and shone in the sun. They were utterly magnificent.

“He gave away the sword you know...” Crowley said carefully, looking back towards his Angel.

“I know. Omniscient, remember? Besides. That was his sword. It’ll find its way back, they usually do. This” She said, handing him a long dark scabbard “is yours. This one will respond only to you. Use it wisely. And for my sake don’t go giving it away.”

He took the sword carefully. The scabbard was textured like snakeskin, with a rich red interior and as he drew it out the sword itself seemed longer than should fit inside. It had a dark metal hilt, and when he raised it he could see his face reflected in the gleaming blade. His eyes were still serpentine, he still had the mark on his cheek, but he realised the tiny serpent now had an even tinier golden halo, only visible if you looked closely. He chuckled to himself. He held the sword out and, now how had Aziraphale described it? He concentrated on the profound sadness buried deep down, turning all that pain to anger, letting it flare up to the surface.

The sword ignited with such force that he felt the ground tremble. Ah. Dial it back a bit then. The flame calmed down to a menacing red ember glow, slowly caressing the blade.

Crowley didn’t really know what to say. “Thank you” was the best he could come up with.

“Don't suppose you have your Bentley's crank arm?” She asked with a smile. "Pity. I rather liked that. Oh well, old fashioned way it is then. Ready?"

Crowley let the sword extinguish, and sheathed it. He tucked his new wings away, delighting in their softness, and slung the sword over his body so it hung between his shoulder blades. “Ready.” He said with a nod. And for once, he meant it.

Aziraphale had been arguing over church history with the priest. He knew he shouldn’t, but the man was just plain wrong. Aziraphale has been there and seen it with his own eyes. But then those very same eyes blurred for just a fraction of a moment, and as he blinked he felt the change. He turned his head slowly towards the source, suddenly ignoring the ignorant priest, and saw Her.  
He saw Her cradle Crowley’s face in Her hand, and gently kiss his forehead. Then She said something to him quietly, which looked like a farewell, but he couldn’t work out Her last word. The priest forgotten, he stared and he realised a part of him was, what was that? Jealous? Of which one of them? He quickly brushed that feeling aside and cautiously walked towards them. Before he could get there She turned to meet his gaze, nodded in acknowledgement of a job well done, smiled, then turned and walked away. She walked into a shaft of coloured light and faded into it until all that was left was dust swirling and dancing in the light. As Aziraphale reached Crowley he realised that for once his companion looked at peace. His normal agitated fidgeting had stilled, and he was smiling gently rather than scowling. Aziraphale had never seen him look so beautiful.

“That...” Aziraphale began

“Yep.” Said Crowley.

“She...” the Angel tried again

“Yep” Crowley repeated.

“Well what did she say?!” He managed.

“That I’m a Guardian Angel.” Crowley replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh my.” Aziraphale said “Of what? There aren’t exactly gates any more like there used to be.”

“All of it Angel. The whole world. That’s why I had to go down to Hell, so I could get both Demon and Angel abilities. I have to guard Earth from both of them.” He said solemnly.

They turned to look at the window.

“They’ve got your hair right. I did so love it long.” Sighed Aziraphale without thinking. He hurriedly followed it with “I knew I should have kept that sword.”

“She gave me a new one.” Crowley said, gesturing to the hilt poking up over his right shoulder.

“Did she tell you your name?” Aziraphale asked.

“My old name, but I have no use for that now.” He said dismissively. “There are more important things to think about.”

“Like what?” Aziraphale asked in surprise.

“Like lunch.” He said simply. “At the Ritz. Extraordinary amounts of champagne. Coming?”

“Well you know I can’t turn down champagne at the Ritz.” Said the Angel, barely controlling his delight that his companion had found his place in this world.

Delight turned to astonishment as Crowley grabbed his hand as they walked out of the church. He stole a glance at Crowley in nervous amazement, but his Guardian Angel just smiled at him. Perhaps they could find their place with each other, he thought. 

These leaps of faith aren’t so bad after all, thought Crowley, relishing the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand in his. He was really looking forward to the next time he saw Gabriel.

A couple of weeks later they did indeed find Aziraphale’s sword, in an umbrella stand by the bookshop door that the Angel would swear wasn't there last time he looked. They put it carefully in the safe in Crowley’s flat, next to Crowley’s sword. One day they would need them, but for now, they had better things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I failed at keeping it short.


End file.
